Pubs, Lies and Banana Boats
by toestastegood
Summary: [OwenxRhys] Owen goes 'undercover' to check out the competition. What he finds isn't what he was expecting. [Torchwood Fic]


Title: Pubs, Lies and Banana Boats  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairings: Owen/Rhys mentions of Owen/Gwen, Rhys/Gwen, and Jack/Ianto  
Word Count: 3857  
Summary: Owen goes 'undercover' to check out the competition.  
A/N: Thanks to **ladykoori** for betaing. The story is set before Countrycide but after Cyberwoman.

* * *

Smoke billowed and swirled around the pub, thick and unhealthy, while the floor retained the stickiness of spilt beer. Lively patrons were attached to the bar and the scattered tables, laughing and joking and slurring their words as they patted each other on the back and paid vague attention to the football that played on the wide screen.

It was hardly surprising, Owen reckoned, that this was the kind of place that Gwen's dead-beat boyfriend spent his time. Some common dump surrounded by a bunch of other oafs.

He kept his hand on the pint glass in front of him, curled around it even though he'd barely touched the beer inside. He wasn't here to drink – there were thousands of better places to do that, even in Cardiff - he was just here to…

Well, to be frank, he wasn't really sure. Check out the 'competition'? Really, though, there was nothing in it. He didn't doubt for a second that Gwen's safe and comfortable boyfriend would be out of the picture within just a few months of Gwen working with Torchwood. Normal life, regular boyfriends, happy relationships: they just didn't exist once you started working here.

Maybe he was here to work out what she was like, the new girl. Gwen Cooper. While on paper they had every single statistic and number that mattered, she hadn't been around long enough for him to figure her out. So far, he had her down as an empathetic twerp with a guilt complex – but seeing as she was hot, he figured the 'empathetic twerp' part wasn't actually too bad.

Still, this whole boyfriend thing that she had going on was just weird. They didn't fit in with Torchwood and with good reason: they usually ended up getting killed or finding out. Owen had never come across the problem himself but he'd heard some nasty horror stories from Torchwood One. Torchwood didn't play well with others, as a rule.

His eyes scanned over the pathetic losers in this pub, trying to work out which one was Gwen's. The wasted and balding idiot slumped by the bar? The bloke yelling obscenities at the TV? One of the crowd jostling and laughing by the darts board? Too many options and none of them really seemed Gwen's style so Owen just kept his head down and listened for now.

His fingertips drummed at the table, bored out of his mind already. He should've brought Tosh with him: he could've talked her into it. With his charm, he could talk her into absolutely anything. When it came to Tosh, Owen was absolutely sure that he put even Jack to shame.

Instead, he skulked off alone and found himself waiting in what was probably the wrong sodding pub for Rhys bloody Williams.

Rhys Williams. Even his name could send you to sleep.

As the clock wound on and Owen found himself losing both his patience and the will to live, the door opened and a couple of guys spilled in. Heavily built, both of them, with the soft smiles of those who had already had just enough to drink. They had their arms around each others shoulders in a way that was just friendly, nothing sexual about it.

Narrowing his eyes, Owen leaned forwards slightly. They were the only new people to have spilt into this place since Owen had first entered so that was hopeful. If he didn't have the right targets now, then he wasn't going to find the elusive Rhys at all.

The pair ambled up to the barman, who looked up with a grin as he spotted them. Regulars, then. That was promising.

He stared deep into his pint as if searching it for clues of the future, all the while listening in on the conversation. It was pretty damn difficult, seeing as their Welsh accents managed to mangle the English language out of all recognition but when he heard one of the men being referred to, slightly condescendingly, as 'Rhys-y, Rhys-y, Rhys-y', he looked up with a broad smirk.

Rhys Williams was apparently the one on the right. Not too tall and with a more than comfortable amount of weight on his body. How he'd ended up with a girl like Gwen was more of a mystery to Owen than he cared to let on.

Holding his pint in his hand, he made sure to watch Rhys for the rest of the night, although he didn't yet initiate contact.

* * *

"Oi!" a thick Welsh accent called out at him from his left. Just a moment later, Owen felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder, with a worrying grip. As he looked up, he found himself looking into the smiling face of one of Rhys's friends – 'Banana Boat' from what he'd been able to gather during his weeks at this bar, observing them.

To be honest, 'stalking them' might be a little more accurate.

"You, lurker-guy," Banana Boat said and Owen wondered whether to be proud that he'd already picked up his own nickname. That seemed like an accomplishment. "Tell Rhys to stop being a wanker, right? 'Cause he's not gonna listen to the rest of us."

Owen smiled, as real as he could make it, and turned so that he could look at Rhys too now. Propping up the bar, Rhys scowled and quickly moved forwards to grab his friend's arm. "Sorry about that, mate. He's had a bit much to drink."

"Nah, no problem," Owen said Banana Boat's hand released his shoulder. He held back the urge to rub the feeling back into his arm. "It's a pub. Y'sort of expect to find drunk people here."

Rhys smiled, a little startled, then nodded over towards the small group of three or four people he'd come in with. "Guess so. You want to come join us? I'm Rhys, by the way."

Owen grinned and picked up his pint. "I'm Owen."

* * *

"Headache, love?" Gwen asked, with a smug tone in her voice the next day. Owen winced and gave a quiet groan, hangover thumping through him. He sat by his desk, leaning his head on his hand and wishing to any gods listening that he could be sent home for the rest of the day.

No such luck, of course: some body had been found buried in the local woodlands, with an odd looking device where his heart should've been. That meant that Owen would probably have an autopsy to perform that afternoon – somehow, he didn't think that rotting bodies were the ideal cure for a hangover.

He scowled at Gwen. "Yeah, actually," he snapped. "Just the thought of having to spend a day around you's making my head hurt."

The sound of his ire being directed at Gwen, for once, made Tosh look away from her computer screen, something that had to be a miracle in itself. "Steady on, Owen. She was just asking."

He rolled his eyes once and didn't bother replying to her. Any other day he would've pointed out that Gwen never 'just asked' but today wasn't a day for fighting. Today was a day for hiding your head under your pillow and wishing you'd better been born. With a final groan, he cleared a spot on his desk and leaned his head on it. Jack and Ianto were 'busy' in Jack's office, so Owen wasn't likely to be interrupted.

As his eyes slid closed and he began to doze off, he vowed never to drink a single drop of alcohol again.

* * *

"C'mon, Lurker. Drink up," Rhys said as they sat together at the bar. Rhys had managed to polish off one entire pint of beer in the time that Owen had managed to take a single gulp.

Owen raised an eyebrow and wondered what could've happened in the past week since they'd last met up to prompt a need for alcohol like that – he could bet it had something to do with Gwen, though. "Careful, Rhys. We've just been in here five minutes. You keep drinking like that and I'll be carrying you home."

Rhys didn't smile, just gestured the bartender over and got a replacement drink. "Sounds like a good plan, I think."

Owen snorted air through his nose. "Yeah, right – some of us've got to work in the morning, y'know."

Rhys stayed quite this time and took a deep gulp of his drink, fast enough to make Owen reach out and grab his arm tightly. "Steady, alright? Alcohol poisoning isn't half as much fun as you'd think, which is bloody saying something. And if you think I'm gonna turn up here again if you barf all over me, you've got another thing coming."

That at least got a smile out of Rhys but it was small and bitter and not nearly enough. He muttered something under his breath, however because of the noise that swelled around them – no football match today, just 80s warbling from the jukebox and the crush of conversation – Owen couldn't hear it.

He nudged Rhys in the ribs. "Speak up. This place is mental."

Rhys nodded and he seemed dazed. "I think my girlfriend's cheating on me." He said it plainly, bluntly, enough to make Owen wonder if he even noticed what he was saying or who he was saying it to. Probably not.

Then again, Owen reckoned that he was a better person to confess something to than 'Banana Boat' could be, even if Rhys didn't know a thing about him.

Still. Gwen, cheating? He'd been _trying_ to talk her into it for weeks, ever since she signed up with Torchwood, and the woman had pants made of steel. He frowned, walking Rhys's pale face closely. "Cheating on you? Gwen?"

Rhys glanced towards him, apparently surprised that Owen even remembered the name, but he nodded. "Yeah. She's… It's this new job, y'see. I don't even know what she's working as. She just goes out, doesn't come back 'til late and she's always got these weird marks. It's Special Ops, so it's not like she can tell me everything, but…"

"But it'd be nice if she told you _something_?" Owen suggested.

Rhys nodded. "Yeah, something like that. When she's with me now, though, you can tell her mind's not there. Think she must be having it off with some bloke at work. Either that or this job's even better than she says."

Feeling sorry for the guy unintentionally, Owen patted his shoulder. "C'mon, mate. If she's got any sense, she'll be sticking with you."

As Rhys shrugged and slumped further into self-pity, Owen silently decided that he was going to have to give up on his attempts at seducing Gwen into bed.

* * *

In the Hub the following day, listening to the clatter-board sounds of Tosh's typing, he watched Gwen, eyes narrowed. On her computer screen, she was playing a game of Solitaire, clearly as free of work to occupy her as he was.

She could, he realised, have been spending this time back at home, with her boyfriend. Bitch.

Frowning, he turned back to his computer and logged into the Instant Messenger. Within seconds, he'd drawn up her window.

_Owen: Hey Gwen!_

Christ, that was cheery, which he hadn't been planning at all – but it was difficult to sound bitchy while IMing someone.

Still, he could've left out the exclamation point.

For that matter, he could've left out the 'hey' as well.

Before he could try to study those two words any more, Gwen had promptly sent back a reply.

_Gwen: Heya. :) I'm so bored!  
Owen: Piss off – any second now you'll be asking Jack for extra work.  
Gwen: Not bloody likely. What're you up to?  
_  
Owen paused and considered the question: what was he up to? He was 'up to' sneaking around her boyfriend at the weekends and getting gradually more and more annoyed at her for not treating him right. Somehow, he doubted that was the appropriate answer.

He had a quick check around to ensure that no one was looking – Tosh was absorbed in her coding; Ianto was who-knew-where in the depths of the Hub and Jack was messing around with their latest alien artefact in his office – before giving his reply.  
_  
Owen: Absolutely bugger all. Looking up porn on the internet.  
Gwen: You're a sick little man, O.  
Owen:P I'm sure you like it that way.  
Gwen: In your dreams.  
Owen: Yeah, right. Bet that boyfriend of yours in a complete perv.  
Gwen: Stop it, Owen. Don't bring Rhys into it.  
_  
Owen rolled his eyes as he read that and his fingers burned on the keys. She was his co-worker, and though she wasn't nearly a friend yet, he didn't hate her. That meant, unfortunately, that he couldn't be uncontrollably rude to her.  
_  
Owen: course. That's your method for everything.  
Gwen: Meaning?  
Owen: Meaning what does he think you do all day?  
Owen: Must get suspicious, you spending all this time away from him.  
Owen: Probably thinks you're copping it off with someone here.  
Owen: …  
Owen: You're not, are you? You and Jack don't have a thing going, do you?  
_  
Abruptly, Gwen stood from her desk and walked off. She determinedly didn't look at Owen as she did so, as she disappeared towards the bathroom: he had the feeling he'd just hit a raw nerve.

Fuck.

* * *

"She's not worth it, mate," Owen slurred as they sat together, once again in the pub at the end of the week. It was a Friday night so the place was busier than ever: to his left, there sat an old man who stank of stale cigarettes.

To his right, however, Rhys was sat on one of the bar stools, absently watching the game that was playing on the TV: snooker today, Owen noted. Boring as hell. He'd rather play than watch.

Rhys allowed his attention to be dragged away from the screen by Owen's drunken words and he gave a slow frown. "Who? Gwen?"

"Yep," Owen confirmed, as he nodded. "Gwen. Gwen-y. Not worth it. She's shagging around with Jack. Or she wants t'be. I'm not all the sure – but I know that, given half the chance, she'd bed him in a second."

Rhys had gone very, completely still. He held his pint glass tightly in his hand but didn't take a drink. "Who's Jack?" he asked, without raising his voice.

Owen laughed and slapped his hand on the bar, shoulders shaking. Rhys stared at him in alarm. "God, that's the bloody question, Rhys! Who _is_ Jack?"

Rhys, apparently, still didn't get the joke. Owen wasn't sure if he got it himself either; he was just absolutely convinced that it was the funniest thing he'd heard all night. Sadly, that probably said something about the state of humour in this pub.

As he was cackling to himself, he suddenly felt an arm around him, helping him off his stool and to his feet. He looked up to see Rhys, looking bigger and more threatening than ever, holding him up and starting to lead him to the door. At his confused look, Rhys offered a quick explanation: "You've had way too much to drink, Lurker. I'm gonna take you home, right?"

Owen nodded and rested his head against Rhys's shoulder. It was only when the taxi pulled up outside Rhys and Gwen's flat that he remembered Rhys hadn't clarified whose home he was taking them to.

* * *

Gwen's home, he noted as Rhys helped him through the door and over to the couch. Cosy, homely, sickeningly domestic. The girl really was fooling herself, wasn't she?

"You live here?" he asked, as Rhys dumped him on the red sofa.

Rhys snorted and walked off. "Nah, Owen. I broke in. Figured the owners won't mind."

Owen sat up straight from where he'd been slumped back and watched in horror as Rhys removed a pillow and spare blanket from a cupboard in the wall. This wasn't Rhys's place? Gwen's boyfriend was breaking and entering? Christ, he hadn't signed up for this. His days with petty crime were supposed to be over.

Not that he'd ever been particularly good at it anyway; stealing medical supplies from the hospital hadn't been as exciting as he'd thought it would be.

But breaking into some stranger's home and sleeping on their couch? That was pretty hard-core. Maybe Gwen's man was butcher than he'd thought.

As Rhys returned to the couch and saw the worried look Owen's face, he just smiled and rolled his eyes. "Relax, you tosser. 'course it's my place." He grinned and chucked the pillow right at Owen's face, who sluggishly tried – and _failed_ – to catch it. Damn. There was a reason he didn't usually allow himself to get absolutely hammered.

Rhys's smile faded and he started to fuss around, placing the pillow behind Owen's head and drawing the blanket over him. Owen smiled lazily, raising a hand to Rhys's face. "You're gonna make a sodding good dad one day, y'know."

That brought the smile back, warm and indulgent, to Rhys's face, so Owen stroked his hand over the man's cheek. "Yeah? I hope so. Also hope none of my kids are ever dumb enough to get themselves shit-faced."

Owen smirked and ran his hand over Rhys's jaw line seeing as he'd received no objection to the hand on his cheek. He brushed his fingers over the clean-shaven skin, tracing the line along to his chin. "I'm not shit-faced," he protested quietly, watching his hand now instead of Rhys's eyes. "I'm thoroughly clear-headed."

Rhys smirked and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure you are. And you're gonna be sore-headed in the morning too. Hangovers are hell. Hope that boss of yours is understanding."

Owen mumbled a few insults towards Jack under his breath but he was hardly focusing on this any more. He had the stifling warmth of the blanket Rhys had handed him over his legs and the alcohol was swirling through his mind and clogging everything up, so maybe that could be blamed for what happened next.

His hand moved from Rhys's chin to the back of his neck, pulling him down to smash their mouths together with a sloppy and drunken force. Their teeth clicked together and he knew he must've tasted gross, of cigarettes and alcohol and the kebab he'd eaten before going to the pub.

But he sank his fingers into Rhys's hair, tugging on the strands as he kept him as close as he could. Rhys wasn't responding, apparently frozen in place, but Owen could work his way around that. Make a person feel good enough and they'd abandon their morals. He knew that.

Only as Rhys pulled backwards, eyebrows raised, it turned out that Owen's theory was possibly a little bit wrong. Rhys's lips were spit-slick by now but he looked stunned. "You're drunk," he stated quietly.

"Not that drunk. I know what I'm doing."

"Like hell you do," Rhys said as he stood up. His body was tense, made of stiff angles, as if he was ready to run away at any instant. "Bet you don't even remember this in the morning."

"Bet I do." Owen glanced down to Rhys's wrist and considered reaching out to grab it. Rhys was big but Owen was pretty strong too. He could keep Rhys from walking off, couldn't he? Wouldn't be too hard at all.

"I've got a girlfriend, Lurker," Rhys said – and Owen liked to think that he sounded mournful, regretful, 'I'd get rid of Gwen if you want'-ful. Maybe that was just the drink, though.

"Bollocks."

"I love her." The bastard sounded like he meant it too. Rhys reached forward to pat Owen's shoulder – not half as hard as Banana Boat had grabbed it weeks ago but Owen scowled anyway – before moving backwards towards his bedroom, quickly. "Get some sleep, Owen. You'll feel way better in the morning."

Still scowling, Owen rolled over onto his side and just closed his eyes. He bloody hoped Rhys was right: if he didn't feel better by the morning, he was possibly going to kill someone at work.

* * *

It was with a sickened groan that Owen was ripped from his sleeping the following morning, by a hissed Welsh accent and several prods to his stomach.

"Owen. _O_wen. Get up."

When he opened his eyes, he wasn't faced with Rhys grinning or even looking worried. Gwen was crouched in front of him, with an angry scowl on her face. Wincing, he attempted to pull the pink blanket up over his head.

Her surprisingly strong hand came up to stop him. "We need to get to work soon, Owen. Get up."

With that, she stood up and moved behind the sofa, over to the kitchen. He groaned and sat up, his head swimming uncomfortably. "Water?" he mumbled, his mouth dry and his lips felt cracked. He'd definitely drank way too much last night. He should've listened to Rhys.

As Gwen stomped forwards to slam a glass on the table in front of him – too loud; way, way, way too loud – he winced and leaned back against the back of the couch. "Where's Rhys?" he asked, with his voice croaking. Uncomfortably, he leaned forwards to take that glass.

Gwen stilled in front of him; she watched him with danger and threats in her eyes. "I don't know what you've been doing, Owen, but you'd better stay away from him from now on – or I'll shoot you. I swear I will _shoot_ you if you hurt him."

"Wasn't gonna hurt him," Owen muttered in his defence. Hurting Rhys had definitely been the furthest possible thing from his mind.

"Oh yeah?" Gwen asked and god she could sound like a bitch when she wanted to. "Well, you bloody did something. He's been spooked all morning, from what I've seen. Whatever you did, you scared him good."

She gave an annoyed sigh and just crossed her arms over her chest. Owen tried not to look up at her and tried desperately not to remember the kiss last night, the one thing that must've 'scared him good'. Fucking hell, did Rhys have to overreact to a little thing like that?

"Just keep away from him, Owen," Gwen said, with a resigned sigh. "He's better off without Torchwood going anywhere near him. If Jack wants to know anything, he doesn't need to send you undercover to find it out. Just ask me."

Owen nodded and didn't bother correcting her. Let her think that it was Jack invading her privacy. It didn't matter – he wasn't going to repeat this again. After last night, he was going to stay as far away from Rhys Williams as he could.

Gwen was right: Torchwood could destroy anything it touched. As sentimental as it was, Owen didn't want Rhys destroyed. Staring down at his glass of water, he took a large gulp and tried to clear his mind.

They had a job to do.

He had to stay focused – and Rhys had to stay clueless. It was better this way. These things usually were.


End file.
